I want to join the Council of Ex-Muslims because at some point, I realized I wasn’t losing my faith — I was just losing my ability to keep a straight face. The more I listened, the funnier it got. Talking snakes, flying horses, eternal barbecue in hell — I mean, come on. I didn’t leave Islam in anger. I left because I was laughing too hard to keep pretending I was convinced.

There was no dramatic exit. No rebellion. I still show up for Eid barbecue, thank you very much — I just skip the mosque and go straight to the meat like a civilized person. My “deconversion” was more like slowly realizing everyone around me was quoting things that sounded like bedtime stories but taking them dead seriously. Meanwhile, I was in the corner with my tea thinking, “Wait… are we not going to talk about how weird this is?”

Add to that the fact that I’m in a wheelchair, and things got even funnier — or tragic, depending on your mood. Suddenly I wasn’t just a skeptic. I became that one stubborn soul who dared to challenge God with wheels. People assumed I must be bitter at life, that I rejected faith because I “blame God” for my disability. As if I rolled out of the womb shaking my fist at the sky like a Marvel villain.

Spoiler: I don’t blame God. I don’t think he’s there. And if he is, he clearly missed a few memos.

What draws me to the Council is the refreshing honesty — the freedom to laugh, to doubt, to say “this doesn’t make sense” without being treated like you’ve lost your mind or your morals. I want to be around people who know the inside jokes, who get why this stuff is funny and serious, who’ve navigated the same awkward family dinners with tactical silence and passive-aggressive tea sipping.

I bring with me years of experience in pretending to nod during religious conversations while mentally designing a sarcastic t-shirt. I’ve got a background in writing and design, a sharp tongue when needed, and a pretty good radar for nonsense. Most of all, I’m ready to contribute to a space that makes room for people like me — the quiet rebels, the funny ones, the thinkers who didn’t shout when they left, but definitely laughed.